Page 33 of A Castaway in Cornwall
“How strange,” he murmured.
“Yes. He is trying to raise funds to uncover and restore the church, but it is slow going.” The Roskillys were hosting a subscription ball soon, which should help his cause.
The lower graveyard was also submerged in sand, but on the higher ground, graves could be seen: Cornish crosses, tomb chests, and headstones.
She led him to a particular section of the graveyard. “These will give you an idea of what the headstone for the crew of theKittiwakemay eventually look like.”
Together they read a few inscriptions:
SACRED
to the memory of six men and a youth,
names unknown, who were cast ashore
from the wreck of theBrave I.
October 21, 1810
DEDICATED
to the unknown dead of the SSLand Ho.
November 8, 1811
Remains brought and interred by volunteer labour.
“Shipwreck victims used to be buried in mass graves near the shore,” Laura said. “Most have no markings at all, or perhaps only an anchor or figurehead. My uncle hated the practice. We were so relieved when the law changed, and we were allowed to bury people in the churchyard.”
He nodded his agreement, expression thoughtful, even solemn.
As they walked past the listing headstones and Cornish crosses, Laura pointed out a more recent grave of interest:
HERE LIE DEPOSITED
the Remains of the chief mate and thirteen seamen,
a portion of the crew of thePrice, which was wrecked
at the entrance of Padstow Harbour.
September 1813
Finally, she led him to a large rectangle of recently disturbed earth near the lych-gate.
“This is where your friend and the other men lie.”
He nodded, staring at the spot. So humble. So wrong. She’d hoped viewing the other headstones and knowing this grave would be properly honored in time might ease the sting of seeing the unmarked patch of sandy dirt. But observing his expression, she doubted anything could ease his present pain.
“I will give you a few minutes alone.”
Again he nodded wordlessly, and Laura walked away to give him privacy to grieve. At the corner of the old church, she glanced over her shoulder and saw him lower himself to his knees and press a hand into the dirt.
Seeing him touch that patch of bare ground, fresh grief at her own losses struck her anew. Bare ... blank ... that was what she saw in her mind’s eye when she tried to imagine her parents’ graves on Jersey. Had they even been given a properburial? A headstone? With her aunt and uncle sick and dying as well, had there been anyone to pay for a memorial? Or had her parents too ended up in an unmarked grave somewhere? She didn’t know. She longed to go to Jersey herself and see their final resting place, to be assured that everything had been done properly. It wouldn’t fill the gaping hole their absence left in her life, but it would be some comfort.
Glad for a few moments of solitude, Laura blinked away tears. As she walked through a neighboring field, she gathered a humble bouquet of feathery grasses, coneflowers, and harebells. Then she strolled slowly back to the church.
After Miss Callaway left him, Alexander lowered himself to his knees before the grave, hardly able to believe that his dear friend lay lifeless beneath dirt and sand and regrets. He leaned forward and pressed a hand into the soil as if he could reach Daniel. Comfort Daniel. Comfort himself.
